Having the Resolve

I'm a Capricorn (a New Year's Day one, in fact), so it will come as no surprise that I like lists. They're not only great for groceries and party planning, they work perfectly on blogs. However, I hate New Year's Resolutions. And those cheesy retrospectives that the local news stations and other insidious sources put us through.

But for parents, sometimes it's good to take stock of the year you've just survived in a retrospective list. We need to calculate our accomplishments as moms and dads, and neatly file those little snapshots of your life in a mental scrapbook. That way, when you're exhausted from some parental exercise and wondering aloud, "Why am I doing this?" those little retrospectives serve to remind you why you do all those things.

Here's a look back on a few parenting milestones for 2010, tossed in with some resolutions, all sewn up in a handy list!

1) Get in the game. We stuffed ourselves with Dodger Dogs and left promptly after the Seventh Inning Stretch. But hey, we made it – and we even found our car again. The Resolution: Make memories. A Broadway musical, even though I don't like musicals. The beach, even if it means spending the next day vacuuming sand out of the car. A Dodger game, even whey the team is not doing that great, is something the kids will remember way into adulthood.

2) Remember the love. This last year, 6-year-old Jack fell hard for all things Star Wars, thus trading his Thomas the Tank trains for his TIE Fighter and beloved Clone Wars jammies. Out with the old; in with the new. The Resolution: Keep a good scrapbook, write down the funny things the kids say, hug the stuffing out of them as often as I can, even when they're bugging me.

3) Get the picture. Kate, at age 10, can now appreciate the subtleties of art, understand the struggles of artists, grasp their vision and their plan. She can learn and visualize and emulate and empathize and soak up the paint and the pain. Jack spent his time at the Norton Simon Museum in Pasadena obsessed with the electronic gadget that spews forth the guided tour – and the museum offers one that's recorded just for kids. Kate chose the more "adult" versions of the interpretations and hung on every word. The art is knowing that they're both taking away what they like, and to get out of the way of that. The Resolution: Guide them to soak up as much culture as they can squeeze into their little brains. Then, get the heck out of their way and let the glue and paint and sparkles spill.

4) Ditch the list. The irony is not wasted here, believe me. But I do tend to schedule tightly, attempt to keep things in order, follow a regimen and keep to a schedule. So when the kids plead, "Mom, can we sleep outside tonight?" I invariably scrunch up my face in a That Is Not The Plan grimace. But they love it, especially when they wake up in the morning and can hang in their tent, sharing Pop Tarts with the dog. The Resolution: Be more spontaneous, and let the kids do more nutty kid stuff.

5) Stop and smell the flowers. As an adult, it's easy to forget how wondrous the world is. But as we're zooming along from one place to the next, Jack will stop me dead in our tracks to stare at a crack in the sidewalk. Kate will pick up a pretty rock, make a dress for it and build a special home for it to "sleep" next to her on the pillow. The two of them will run INTO the rain instead of recoiling as though acid is being dropped on them, as most of us adults do. The Resolution: Remember to see the world through a child's eyes. Be a little less jaded, Carolyn. The world's a pretty cool place.

Now, onto to the next item on the list.

Through the Eyes...

My 6-year-old Jack discovered my camera recently, and the results were funny ... and telling.

Here's a sampling, unedited. I've done my best to interpret his thoughts as he photographically progressed through the house.

Yay! Bacon!

Do pickles go with wine? (Oh, wait, that's me wondering that ...)

This is a picture of the box the big turkey plate came in. Why didn't our turkey look like that?

This is my mom cooking. I had to take a photo because I don't see that very often.

What's the toothpaste doing in the kitchen? (Oh, wait, that's me again.)

Yep, not proud of that.

Someone should really put those away.

The dog. She's easily distracted.

Quite the handsome couple, don't you think?

I don't think I even need to explain this one.

Photos by Jack. Call for an appointment.

A Scary Thought: Sugar-Free Halloween

These days, we rarely indulge in fast food, try to buy organic broccoli, don't put "Hostess Ding Dongs" on the grocery list and in general try to not keep a constant stream of M&Ms flowing into the lunchboxes. I often offer my kids cantaloupe for dessert, buy the super-lean hamburger meat and use whole-wheat bread for sandwiches (even though I really want that buttery, white-flour Kaiser roll).

So please ... I beg of you: Allow my children and I to enjoy our Halloween candy in peace. I promise I won't eat 13 Hershey's miniatures in one sitting. I will send my kids immediately to their toothbrushes post-Laffy Taffy and make sure they spend extra time on their molars. Fear mongers of the world, please stop frightening the world's mothers into foisting pencils and temporary tattoos into those adorable pumpkin-shaped trick-or-treat buckets in lieu of Smarties and Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. Kids (or perhaps their parents) work really hard on those costumes; give them a "treat" and skip the "sneak them a high-fiber snack" trick.

As it is, we've gotten good about making sure our kids are prepared for the more realistic and immediate dangers of trick-or-treating: Dark sidewalks and busy streets. We've equipped them with glow sticks; high-beam, megawatt LED flashlights; reflectors on their backs, fronts and shoes; GPS tracking systems and a helicopter that flies overhead to shine a spotlight on their path.

But is candy really more evil than that gruesome Jason costume or scarier than the 12-year-old girl dressed like a trampy Brittney Spears? No, I don't think so.

I know, I know. Childhood obesity is a serious problem in this country, and I can't argue with the statistics. But it's not Halloween that led to the major health epidemic. Bad eating habits start at home, and we have to begin with the basics of serving fruits and vegetables, limiting candy and promoting active play. I was, in fact, horrified the day I found out my son had recently traded his healthy, well-balanced lunch for the chocolate sandwich in his friend's bag. Not casting aspersions, knowing that it can be difficult to pack a perfect lunch every day for my two kids. But a chocolate sandwich? (Perhaps that's a kid who should be limited to apples for Halloween.)

As parents, we all must confront several fears and dangers and worries when it comes to our kids. But on Oct. 31, I'm going to throw caution aside and allow my kids to eat some candy. And if I catch you putting a sticker – or heaven forbid, a granola bar – into the trick-or-trick bags, I will be forced to haunt you.

What Gives?

It's been an indulgent week for me. Twice – that's TWO times – in one week I've gone out with a girlfriend to do nothing other than to chat about life and laugh about the craziness of said life. No working, no networking, no agendas, no playdates ... just good old-fashioned girl time. And it was greaaaaaat.

Ironically, while enjoying some rare time away from our busy schedules, one of my girlfriends and I ended up talking about the things we have shelved, sacrificed and put away for a time while we tend to the demanding tasks of raising our kiddos. Of course, the bottom line is that we wouldn't trade our lives now for the lives we had BC (Before Children), but still those things continue to circle overhead like a hawk – high enough not to get in the way but still well within visual range.

Here's how it broke down in my mind:

The foofy stuff that I can no longer wear/find/afford/deal with:

• ridiculous undergarments


• shoes my mother would not approve of


• going to the grocery store just to buy expensive cheese


• expensive cheese


• showers in which I used all the hot water


• the "thinking time" I had in the mornings where I'd gather my thoughts


• Oh, and my thoughts

The stuff that makes me feel guilty that I can no longer do:

• massive holiday card mailings with personal notes


• thank-you cards with personal notes


• personal notes


• returning phone calls


• gifts for the Sparkletts guy during the holidays


• inviting people over to eat expensive cheese

The critical stuff that I've tried – and must for my sanity – recapture

• time with my hair dresser


• not rescheduling doctor's appointments for the 88th time


• dates with my spouse that require us to not dress like Mom or Dad and that also involve reservations of some sort – and possibly ridiculous undergarments (for me)

Of course, life is about moving forward and making changes, and with those changes come new priorities and plans. If I've got to give up holiday-card lists to play Battleship with my son, then I think that's a fair trade, even if that means my Sparkletts guy doesn't get a card or a gift this year. But if I can squeeze in a night out with a friend here and there, then that would be greaaaatt.

What's on your lists?

A Reunion of the Heart

I normally leave the health and hospital news to L.A. Parent's Health-E blogger/editor Christina Elston, but this one hits close to home.

Six years, two months and 18 days ago, my son was born at St. John's Health Center in Santa Monica. I had grown to ginormous proportions, and my doctor was concerned about how much fluid I seemed to be lugging around. So she decided to bring Jack into the world a couple of weeks before his due date. I was ready, but little Jack apparently wasn't. As soon as he saw the bright lights of the outside world, his little face contorted into an unhappy pout. But even more distressing was that he didn't seem to be breathing properly – and then turned a disconcerting shade of blue.

"Is he OK?! Is he OK?!" That's all I remember saying as they whisked the baby out of my arms, past my husband and out of the room. I'm not sure what happened or how much time went by, but the next thing I remember was seeing a pediatrician at my bedside. Apparently, Jack's little lungs weren't quite fully developed, so he had to begin life on this Earth hooked up to a ventilator and all other manner of horrific equipment in the NICU (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit).

From that moment, I scarcely remember anything except the primal, horrific pain of seeing my baby inside a plastic box, his little chest working hard for every breath. Fortunately for all, he quickly showed his strength and determination, ripping out tubes and fussing at all the fuss.

As moms everywhere know, there is NOTHING on this planet that surpasses the trauma of having a baby or a child with a medical problem or injury. Your brain goes to a crazy place. Your body is not your own. You eat and dress on autopilot, and your focus is on nothing but the well-being of your baby chick. A bomb could've gone off three feet from me, and I would have still been sitting in that waiting room, my arms wrapped around my legs, rocking back and forth.

But throughout my entire ordeal, the NICU nurses became the glue that held me together as my addled, postpartum brain tried to make sense of what was happening. They were an unwaivering force of peace and comfort and knowledge and sanity. Before I had even really gotten to hold this wiggling little bundle, the nurses already knew that he liked sweets and hated the pacifier. They knew his cry (scream, more like it), and that he really liked to be naked.

To this day I cannot tell you how long this ordeal when on, except that I know I was discharged before Jack was. The nurses kept me informed without scaring me, made sure I could hold him as long as we both needed it, and they totally understood my fits of rage, despair and exhaustion. Without the dedication of the people who are strong enough to hold up those who, in the moment, are not, then this type of ordeal simply is not survivable.

When I look back, I know now that Jack's little underdeveloped lung issue was a minor complication, compared with some of the medical situations that NICU and its nurses and staff have seen. But my crisis and fear were as great as anyone's, and the staff was no less sympathetic to me than to a mom who might've been dealing with something more serious.

Alas, I am not good with thank-you notes, as the 100 or so people who sent me wedding gifts about 20 years ago can atest to. I swore I would be better about that with baby showers, but I'm still trying to remember to thank folks for the onesies they gave to Kate 10 years ago. And with high hopes I thought I'd succeed in thanking the incredible staff at St. John's NICU after we all came out of it alive. But alas, I don't think I ever found the time to scrap together a few words of thanks between the feedings and diaper changes. But here I am, six years, two months and 18 days later, offering my heartfelt thanks to those incredible women who gave their time, emotion, love and caring to me and my little Jack.

But their greatest rewards might just be seeing the happy, smiling faces of the babies, children and parents they helped nurture through difficult times, which is why St. John's is holding a NICU reunion from 1:30-4:30 p.m. on Sept. 26 in the Dining Court of St. John's new Howard Keck Center. You'll find arts and crafts, food, face painting and the faces of a grateful group. St. John's began delivering babies in 1945, and the hospital opened its 18-bed NICU and a state-of-the-art Women's Health Unit earlier this year – a bit late for me, although I thank them just the same!